1962 - charles xavier

E I G H T

My eyes shoot open and I bolt upright in bed. My heart pounds in my chest as I fist the bedsheets, reminding myself that the nightmare was simply that: a nightmare.

I sigh and make my way downstairs in hope of finding some water to drink, my eyes heavy with sleep. I levitate myself about 6 inches off of the floor, floating in this way down the hall and staircase to avoid waking any of my sleeping comrades. I hover into the kitchen, dropping to the ground in shock when I see Charles leaning against the sink, nursing a steaming mug in one hand.

"Savannah?" He turns to look at me, a small smirk pulling at his pink lips as I tug at the hem of my short nightgown. "What are you doing awake?"

"Just a nightmare," I sigh, reaching around him to grab a glass, filling it from the tap before turning to him. "What about you?"

"I had an argument with Raven." he sighs while shaking his head.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I inquire as I take a seat at the table.

"Do you want to talk about your nightmare?" He counters, and I shake my head. "Well, how about a warm cup of tea, then? It always helps me get to sleep."

I smile and nod at his generous offer, and he grabs the still-hot kettle, preparing a cup and putting a tea bag inside to steep before sitting across from me at the table, nudging the mug towards me while he cradles his own.

"Thank you," I say, pulling the mug close and letting it warm my palms. A light hum escapes Charles' lips, and I look up to see a contented smile lighting up his eyes along with a slight twinge of sadness. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's exactly wrong, it's just that you're very enigmatic to me," Charles answers, resting his chin in his palm. "I usually get to know someone by their minds, but I can get nothing from yours..."

I remain silent, contemplating letting my guard down and allowing him to have a crack at my brain.

"Alright," I sigh, making Charles' eyes light up handsomely. "I'm going to trust you not to dig up anything too traumatizing."

"Of course," Charles breathes out exuberantly before reaching across the table, grabbing my hand. "Are you certain you want me to do this?"

I nod, squeezing his hand as he lifts the other to his temple. I close my eyes and allow the figurative wall that I had raised in my head to crumble, giving him full access to the darkest corners of my mind.

꧁꧁꧂꧂

I see my 5-year-old self lying in my old bedroom back at my parents' house in Illinois. My grey eyes are wide open, staring at the wooden ceiling as Mama's gentle voice drifts up the stairs from where she and Papa are talking at the kitchen table.

"It's not her fault, Norton," Mama scolds, the clipped tone of her words indicating to me that she is holding back tears. "She's just a little girl!"

"I never said it was her fault!" Papa's voice holds more anger than Mama's, but is still hushed to keep from waking his sleeping children upstairs. "But there's somethin' seriously wrong with her! Her hair is already turning grey, for God's sake! She won't fit in at that school, I'm tellin' you. At least Hank's... his deformity is easily hidden."

"That boy is your son!" Mama defends Henry, a small sob escaping her lips. "Just because his feet are different, it doesn't make him some kind of a circus freak!"

"Now Edna, you're always blowin' things out of proportion," Papa accuses. "Hank looks normal and doesn't make things fly around the room, but Savannah is always causing trouble even without meanin' to. Just imagine her sitting in a classroom and all of a sudden kids start floatin' or desks are gettin' tossed around! It would be a disaster!"